


A Warning Shot

by wormghoul



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Other, Past Sith Warrior/Malavai Quinn, Quinn thinks he's a smooth villain, Sith Warrior/Theron Shan mention, blood cw, but Theron is better bar fighter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormghoul/pseuds/wormghoul
Summary: Theron Shan is spending another night in a Nar Shaddaa cantina trying to find the words to write to his beloved Outlander. His quiet brooding is interrupted by the arrival of dead man seeking to cause trouble.aka: Theron is not taking ANY of Malavai's shit.





	A Warning Shot

How Theron Shan washed up in a terrible Nar Shaddaa bar, he wasn’t sure. One minute he was tailing a suspected Zakuulan agent through the streets and the next...he was here, nursing a beer and a headache. Not for the first time since the outbreak of war, he felt like he was losing his touch, or losing something at least. Well, something else. It had been three years since Darth Marr’s flagship disintegrated in Wild Space. Three years since he’d lost her. He took another sip of his drink. _Falling in love with a Sith was probably the first step in his downfall_ , he thought. Theron could curse her or kiss her, and despite it all, he knew if he could, he’d choose the latter. He sighed and retrieved a datapad from the inside pocket of his jacket.

The screen hummed to life, it's neon blue glow mixing into the lights of the bar. He pulled up a half finished love letter he’d been writing and deleting and rewriting for months now. The message was so sappy, with proclamations that he wasn’t giving up on her, that he would be here, waiting when she returned. If she returned. It almost didn't sound like him, which was what made it hard to swallow.

He stared at the cursor as it blinked with the weight of the words he couldn’t bring himself write. He read it over twice, both times failing to come up with something clever, or something that wasn't sad. Frustrated, he put the pad back into his jacket and resumed his previous position of slouching at the bar, holding fast to a warm beer. A moment later, a thin, dark haired man took a seat on the stool directly next to him, despite the wide open space at the bar. When the bartender walked over, he ordered a brandy neat in a chillingly perfect Imperial clip. An Imperial on this side of Nar Shaddaa was unusual. Even on the effectively neutral Hutt controlled world, the Imperials self segregated, not wanting to mix with "rabble". But not the least bit bothered, the man stoically sat and held on to his drink in the same way Theron did, staring at the liquor instead of drinking it.

“You know, you ought to drop the accent here, it’s liable to get your ass kicked." Theron drawled on in his best buzzed mid-rim neutral. He was curious to see what had brought the man here. From the way he sat, the man was likely an officer, so why not go drinking at one of the better Imperial front bars on the north side of the planet? Why come here? Why sit so close?

“You know," the man turned to face Theron with a scowl, still speaking in his pristine accent. "Telling me what to do is liable to get _your_ ass kicked." The man was sarcastic and bitter and his eyes were just a little vacant, like he was already half drunk. _Maybe he’d gotten kicked out of the Imperial bars and had to come slum it with us_ , Theron thought, bringing his glass up for another sip, contemplating his reply.

“Alright then, I get it," he groaned, raising his glass in a nonthreatening half toast, not really itching for a fight, but his mind was unable to come up with anything else.

"You better get it, _Agent_ , because I’m the one issuing orders here." The man leaned in close and Theron saw the man’s sharp angular face turn ghoulish under the bar lighting. He also felt the muzzle of a blaster press into his side. He wasn’t altogether shocked by it, but then again he hadn’t been involved in anything SIS related since Ziost, since he quit. What could the Imps want with him that wasn't ancient history? The Imperial waved the bartender over again. "Where’s your most secluded booth for my friend and I?"

* * *

 

Once they were alone at the back of the bar, his captor introduced himself as Captain Quinn. The hair on the back of Theron’s neck prickled when he heard that. The man was likely _**Malavai**_ Quinn, Chel’a’s presumed dead ex-fiance and would be assassin. Of all the nights for this...cretin to find him, Quinn had to choose the night when Theron was busy brooding over his lost, star crossed love. He was tempted to spit on the man until he remembered the blaster still digging into his side.  
  
“You’ve been searching for the Emperor’s Wrath, why?" Quinn hissed, shoving Theron down into the booth. Theron shrugged. He wasn’t about to tell any damned Imp about why he was searching for Chel’a, even though she was technically one of them. The answer wasn’t good enough for Quinn, who just repeated his question, leaning closer this time. From the smell of the man’s breath, he was right, Quinn had been drinking. Theron shrugged again, risking a punch, assuming Quinn wouldn’t execute him in a public place. _He’d have to take me to Corellia, first_ , he thought darkly.

"Don’t know who or what you’re talking about, Quinn old boy," he whispered into the man’s ear, voice cocky and clear of his earlier drunky act, something that clearly infuriated the other man.

“I know you know who I’m talking about, you dog!" Quinn quite literally spat at him, as a drop or two of spittle landed on Theron’s cheek as the Imperial barked, "My agents have been tailing you for some time, your clumsy prying hasn’t gone unnoticed! Now, tell me what you know about Lord Chel’a." Theron’s blood boiled when he heard her name slide between Quinn’s teeth. Angrily, he disarmed the unsuspecting Imperial, snatching the blaster for himself.

“Why? So you can finish the job, _Malavai_?" It was Theron’s turn to sneer as he pressed the blaster into Quinn’s gut, more forcefully than necessary. Quinn’s eyes went wide in shock at what Theron knew. Then they narrowed in realization; Quinn’s act of betrayal was known to only three people in the galaxy: himself, Chel’a, and Baras. This...this faux hawk touting maggot had wormed his way into being close to his love and Lord, something he must rectify.

Frantically, Quinn made for the blaster, but the ensuing struggle triggered the weapon to misfire, sending a bolt between the two men and into the nearby wall. The sound of gunfire would undoubtedly draw a crowd and Theron needed to leave before that happened, but not before giving the Imp his comeuppance. Seeing as Quinn had been kind enough to let Theron bring his beer along with him, he decided to repay the man, hastily grabbing hold of the glass and smashing it over the man’s head. Quinn fell to the floor with a scream, blood trickling from his skull onto the laminate floor. Satisfied, Theron bolted out of the booth and through the emergency exit.

Now, walking down the smog covered streets of Nar Shaddaa, Theron picked out small shards of glass from his palm. As he scattered the bloody fragments behind him like a breadcrumb trail, he made a mental note to amend his letter to Chel’a, apologizing for not killing Quinn when he had the chance.

 

 


End file.
